The fucker who thinks he actually has a shot.
“I’m sorry,” Reese says to me as Bryce moves past our row to the back of the plane. I look at him with confusion and he shakes his head with a heavy sigh. “I didn’t know he was going to be on this flight. I thought he was staying here for a few more days.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. I don’t like him around you.”
I place my free hand on his forearm. “Reese, it’s fine. Really.” My voice is full of conviction, and I see it working on his suddenly-geared-up state. He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it just as Brooke walks past him and stops in front of Ian.
“That guy is a total douche-canoe.” Her eyes meet mine as I hold my breath.
Don’t say it. Please, God, don’t say it.
“Seriously, Dylan. Good on you for throwing your drink in his face last night.”
Fuuccckkkkkk.
“Sit your ass down,” Juls growls, reaching out for her sister and yanking her into the row. Brooke yelps as she tumbles over Ian, claiming her seat next to Juls.
I clamp my eyes shut, preparing myself for what could quite possibly ground this airplane. I don’t need to look at Reese to know that he is fuming right now. I can sense it in the air.
“Dylan, what the fuck is she talking about?”
Maybe if I jump out the emergency exit, he won’t follow me. That might be my best option here. Or I could punch myself in the face and pray for unconsciousness.
“Dylan, answer me.”
His voice is so commanding, my body submits without a fight. I’m immediately turned toward him and grabbing both his hands, pulling them into my lap. “He was at the club we went to last night. We didn’t know he was there until he bought me a drink and when that happened, I threw it in his face. He ran his mouth a little and then we left. That’s all that happened, I swear.”
His chest rises several times, heaving with fury. “He saw you in that dress.” He pulls his hands out of mine and settles back into his seat. He’s rigid, every muscle flexed as he struggles to keep himself seated. I know he wants to run to the back of the plane. I know he wants to beat the shit out of Bryce. And I know, by the way he isn’t touching me, that I’m in deep shit for keeping this information from him.
Goddamn that dress. It’s really screwing me left and right.
13
The two-and-a-half-hour plane ride home was the longest of my life. I’m not sure why I complained about the one to New Orleans. I would much rather listen to Joey and Brooke banter endlessly as opposed to complete silence from my fiancé, the man who is never quiet with me. Juls kept giving me sympathetic looks over the seat, while Brooke kept mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ throughout the eerily quiet flight. But even though he was pissed, even though he was angrier than he’s ever been with me, he was still my Reese.
He got me a ginger ale from the flight attendant without me asking for it. He carried my luggage with his as we walked from the terminal to his Range Rover. And he opened every door for me. I knew he wasn’t purposely trying to make me feel even worse about keeping information from him, but that’s definitely what ended up happening.
I hear the TV turn on in the living room as I plop myself down on the edge of his bed. I feel drained, mentally and emotionally. We’ve been home for nineteen minutes, not that I’m counting, and he still hasn’t said one word to me.
I hate this.
Reese’s words mean more to me than a lot of things. It was what I missed the most when we were apart for eighty-five days, and I could give him space right now and let him talk to me when he’s ready, but I don’t want space from Reese. I never will. If he doesn’t want to talk to me in the traditional sense, maybe I can coax a few written words from him. I grab my phone out of the suitcase I haven’t bothered unpacking yet and sit back down on the bed, folding my legs underneath me.
Me: Do you know the exact moment I knew I loved you?
I press send and hear the alert on his phone go off in the distance. I can’t see if he’s reading it and typing a response, reading it and deciding I don’t deserve a response, or ignoring me completely. I go with option two. I’m not sure I deserve much of anything right now.
Me: It was on your birthday. Do you remember what we did?
I’m typing the answer for him when my phone beeps.
Reese: How could I forget? I never thought I’d get you in my bed.
I blink and send the tears down my cheeks, sniffing loudly. Loud enough to possibly alert him of my crying. But it’s hard not to cry when he’s given me his words. I’ve only been deprived of them for a little over three hours, but it felt like longer. Much longer. As I type my response, movement in the doorway catches my attention.
I’m in his arms before I can speak, before I can tell him I’m sorry, before I can wipe the tears from my face. I’m so drawn to him that even if I wanted to remain on the bed, there’s not a chance in Hell I could. Not when I’ve fucked up and I need him to feel how sorry I am. My body trembles as he lifts me off the ground and holds me against him. He moans into my hair, and I cling to him like I’m desperate. Like I’ve been deprived for years of his contact. Like it could be taken away from me at any minute. And that’s exactly how he holds me.
It kills me.
I cry harder, grip him tighter, bury my face so far into his neck it becomes borderline painful. I don’t register that he’s carried me throughout his condo until he crouches down and sits on the couch with me in his arms. I scoot closer until I’m practically in his skin. Until it’s hard to determine where he ends and I begin. He keeps one arm on my legs while the other stays wrapped around my upper body.